From My Side
by Sacherie
Summary: This is a Fan Fiction based off of the TV show Alias. It is about the character Martin Shepard, who is found in Season 1, Episode 7 entitled "Color Blind". It's just what I thought his life was like as an assassin for the FTL.
1. Chapter One Awakening

**Author's Note**: This is my second Fan Fiction, based off of the TV show Alias. I would really appreciate it if you'd comment on it, and tell me how it's going. I hope it flows alright, and for those of you who remember this (it's from Season 1, Episode 7, "Color Blind"), tell me if this makes sense based off of that Episode. Thanks! ☻

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**Chapter One - Awakening **

A rough voice brought me haltingly back to consciousness. As I struggled to motivate myself to awake, I realized that I had no clue where I was or what I was doing. The questions rang through my head over and over…_Where am I? What am I doing here?_ until my mind was fully functional again. While my mind was processing the questions, turning them over and over in my head, attempting to find an answer, my physical body attempted to regain mobility and consciousness, although I wasn't sure whether I had been asleep, knocked out, or simply spacing out. It was an odd feeling, but I gave it no thought. Instead, I returned to the problem at hand. This room.

As I sat there contemplating the mysteries of this strange room – dark, cramped, and filled with various computer monitors, and a lot of other technological devices I wasn't familiar with – the voice reminded me of its presence.

"Shepard…Martin Shepard…" the voice called again, in the same rough tone, cold and heartless. Much like the room that I was in.

I turned to face the voice, surprised to see a man. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s or 70s – I couldn't quite tell – and seemed familiar but I couldn't quite place him. He smiled, if you could call it a smile, and then proceeded to place small, round button-like things on my forehead. The button-things were connected to some kind of wires, which were then connected to one of the computer monitors. Gosh, my brain was starting to hurt, just by thinking about all the stuff I was connected to.

"Well, this is it, Shepard. Your big test. Now, for a few questions." The man said, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. A blade? Why was I comparing a strange man's voice to a blade, when I was in a room with him, connected to all sorts of wires and cables, about to be asked questions by this man for all I knew could be a serial killer. And there I was, making connections between this man and blades and killers. _Way to be optomistic about the situation_, I thought.

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**Author's Note**: I know, two notes in one chapter. But it's the first chapter, so I'm entitled to two, I suppose. Sorry it's a bit short (or, at least it seems a bit short to me). What do you think of it? It's a bit confusing right now, but hopefully it'll make more sense as I continue writing this story. Thanks for **READ**ing** AND REVIEW**ing.  


	2. Chapter Two A Realization

**Chapter Two: Questioning**

The man began to speak, but I cut him off before he had a chance to do more than open his mouth.

"Wait a minute. I think I'm entitled to a few questions first." I said, glaring at him before realizing that this probably wouldn't help the situation, so instead, I softened it to a more "neutral" stare.

The man stared back, and for a moment, I thought we would be eternally locked in a battle of wills, otherwise known as a staring contest. However, after a few seconds of staring intently at each other, the man broke contact by looking down. _You lost_, I thought. And then he spoke.

"Well, I suppose you're right. I'll be right back." The man replied. He proceeded to stand up and walk out of the room through a heavy metal door.

I sighed, wondering what was going to happen next. Instead of coming up with multiple possible situations, I looked around again, scrutinizing the room for some clue of what was going on.

It was then when I realized that I knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about anything. I had no recollection of my life at all. My next thought was Amnesia, but I wasn't even sure how I knew what that was. How could I remember something like amnesia in a time when I couldn't even remember my own name, how old I was, or what I was doing? Was it always like this for people who had amnesia? It seemed to me, they wouldn't be able to remember the word "amnesia", much less anything else. But maybe they could, I wasn't a psychiatrist or a doctor or..or..was I?

Frustrated at the new-found knowledge that I knew nothing, I banged my hand on the table. The impact hurt me more than would be expected, and drew out a cry from me.

The man, upon hearing my cry, must have sprinted back, as the door burst open minutes later, and the man, panting, re-entered.

"What was that?" he gasped, heavily falling into his chair.

"I hit my hand on the table. And then I cried out, for it hurt." I replied, wondering why the man even cared. It wasn't like I was screaming or anything. The man, however, simply stared at me incredulously, as if I were a dangerous human being capable of doing anything. Which then made me laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" He asked, this time sounding much more baffled. I detected a hint of alarm in his voice.

"I am simply laughing at the situation. I have no idea who I am, what I'm doing here, and I'm sitting here having a conversation with a man I don't even know. Wouldn't you laugh, if you were in my position?" I retorted through my laughter. The man just looked at me in the same peculiar way. The way that his face looked – as if he were the most powerful, learned man in the world, looking upon an idiot that confused him, yet also made him afraid – startled me, and I stopped laughing.

There was an awkward pause. Then, the man spoke.

"You are Martin Shepard. But before I can tell you more, I insist on asking you a few questions so we can see how much you can remember. And then, Sloane will tell you everything."

"Who's 'we', and who's this 'Sloane'?" I asked. He just stared at me, contemplating something. Again, he opened his mouth to speak, and again, I interrupted him.

"And besides, what's the use of questioning a man who doesn't remember anything? Anything at all." I asked.

"Oh, there's use, alright." He replied, his tone containing a note of finality that made me realize that my turn for questions was up, and that whatever was going to happen next was going to happen, whether I wanted it to or not.

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**Author's Note**: Again, a bit of a short chapter. But I'm pretty sure that if I dragged this scene out, you'd be impatient to hear about the questioning. Or, just moving along. Either way, it's short. So yeah, please **READ AND REVIEW**. Thanks.  


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